The House We Haunted and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  It'll be as if Kate never existed.

  Closing my eyes, I try to think back to the sound of her voice, but I feel as if I'm already forgetting what she was like. Sure, I've got photos and videos, but I'm terrified that she's starting to fade from my mind. In fifty years, will she be anything more than an image from the past? I want to remember what it was like to be near her, to feel her energy in the room, but those are the things that I'm already losing. One day, she'll be nothing more than a memory.

  Climbing out of the bath, I head through to the main room. There's a part of me that wants to just stay here and never leave, to always be in a place that's filled with the energy of my sister's final moments. I think I could be happy here, just minding my own business and always knowing that I'm close to her soul. I might even be tempted to believe that she's still here with me, watching and waiting. I know one thing for certain: if Kate was able to come back in any form, she sure as hell wouldn't ever go back to the house.

  "It's me," I say after a moment.

  I wait for a response.

  "If you're here," I continue, "can you give me a sign? Anything? Just something that makes it obvious?"

  Silence.

  "Just one sign," I add, with tears in my eyes. "Please, Kate, I know you can hear me, so just let me know that you're there. Make a noise, move something, touch me, talk... I just need to know that you're still around..."

  Silence.

  "Come on," I whisper, convinced that she's listening and that she just needs a little encouragement. "I know you're here! I can feel you! Just give me some proof!"

  I stand completely still for several minutes, desperately willing her to signal her presence, but nothing happens. For a moment, I'm tempted to think that I might be wrong, that her presence is just a figment of my imagination. Finally, however, I realize that she must be waiting for me to prove to her that I still care, which can only mean one thing.

  I have to go back to the house and make it suffer.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellen

  By the time I get back to the house, it's almost midnight and Luke has gone to bed. I was hoping he'd be up so that I could talk to him about Kate's possessions, but I guess that kind of conversation can wait until morning. I close the front door quietly, hoping to make as little noise as possible, and then I head through to the lounge.

  The lights are all off, and I leave them that way. Moonlight is streaming through the windows, bathing the whole room in an ethereal blue glow. I'd usually be terrified right now, and convinced that some unseen figure was ready to walk up behind me, but this time I feel strangely confident. There's nothing this house can throw at me that I haven't already experienced, and besides, tonight the tables have been turned. It's the house that should be scared of me.

  Alice Maynard was my great-great-grandmother, a woman who was born in this house, lived here all her life, and died in an old tin bath in this very room at the age of thirty-nine. It took me a while to dig through the records, but I finally found some detailed accounts of her life. She was apparently a happy, friendly woman, and she doted on her three children until one day, shortly after her thirty-first birthday, she was afflicted by a sudden change. Contemporary accounts tended not to be very sympathetic to Alice's plight, writing her problems off variously as women's problems, fever and madness. It's impossible to know for certain what happened, but within just a few months she had apparently become suicidal. She tried several times to kill herself, but one night her husband was away from town with their youngest son. Alice and the other two children were supposed to be cared for by a relative, but the arrangement didn't work: late one night, Alice she came downstairs, filled the tin bath, and drowned two of her children. Once she was done, she climbed into the water and cut her wrists. Her husband came home and discovered the horrific scene the following morning.

  Walking over to the far corner of the lounge, I stand in the spot where the bath was apparently located. I guess I might be imagining it, but I swear there's a different kind of energy here, as if it's not quite the same as the rest of the house.

  After Alice's death, her husband tried to raise their remaining child here for a few years, before eventually being driven out by a series of unusual events. Noises were heard in the night, windows seemed to spontaneously break themselves, and the smell of blood was reported by several family members. The house was left empty for a number of years, before finally Alice's grandson decided to take the place. Despite warnings from the rest of the family, he apparently renovated the entire house, ripping out the bath in the process and storing it in the basement. By all accounts, he wasn't a superstitious man, and he was happy to talk about the events that had taken place here so many years before. His own children, one of whom is my father, are said to have experienced no strange events in the house, or if they did, they didn't make a fuss. For some reason, Alice's spirit seems to have bypassed a couple of generations until finally waking when Kate, John and I were born. We attracted her attention, and she refused to let go.

  Placing my bag on the table, I root through the contents for a moment before pulling out my phone. I bring up the photo that I copied the other day when I was at the archive, and I can't help but smile as I look at the faint, yellowed image of Alice Maynard. She looked exactly like Kate. It wasn't just a vague resemblance; they just seemed to have the exact same features, and I can't help wondering if this is why Alice's spirit was particularly drawn to us and to Kate. It's as if, having killed two of her own children all those years ago, she decided that she would try to do the same to us. John obviously wasn't as badly affected, but Kate and I suffered at Alice's hands for many years until, finally, Kate couldn't take it any longer.

  I just wish I'd had a chance to tell Kate about all of this. Instead, she died believing that the pair of us mostly imagined the whole thing.

  Hearing a creaking floorboard upstairs, I can't help but smile. Now that I know who she is, Alice doesn't really scare me anymore. I make my way through to the hallway and then up the stairs, taking each step slowly and carefully until I reach the landing. I can feel a presence all around, as if Alice is right next to me. Walking toward the door to my old bedroom, I swear to God I can hear a second set of footsteps right behind me, and finally I turn and come face to face with her. She stares straight at me from just a few inches away, her dark, dead eyes fixed with an expression of pure, malicious intent. She's no longer trying to hide but, equally, I no longer feel the need to hide. We all run from ghosts, but this time I refuse to back down. Perhaps she knows that I uncovered the truth, or perhaps Kate's death has emboldened her; either way, I feel a strange sense of strength and calmness in my chest as I meet her stare and show her that I'm not scared.

  After a moment, I hear sirens in the distance. At first I assume that it's just another police car or ambulance racing off to an emergency in town, but finally the sirens get closer and closer; there's the sound of tires coming to a screeching halt in the driveway, and flashing blue lights dance beyond the window. Moments later, while still staring at Alice, I hear voices outside, followed by footsteps and then a knock at the door.

  Reaching down, I place a hand on my shirt and find that it's soaking wet. Breaking Alice's gaze for a moment, I raise the hand and see that it's stained dark red with blood. At first, I'm shocked that I don't feel any pain at all, but then I realize that it might not be my blood at all. Raising my other hand, I see that I'm holding a long, blooded carving knife. For a fraction of a second, all the thoughts in my head seem to collide. Finally, as I hear the front door being broken open, I turn and walk to the door that leads to my father's bedroom. I look inside and spot a figure on the blood-soaked sheets, and another on the floor. I guess it was only natural that Mum and Dad should die in the same room, even if they separated long ago. I remember them both leaving earlier, but those memories suddenly seem far less substantial.

  "Ellen Maynard!" a voice calls out from below.

  Ignoring the police offi
cer, I walk across the landing, past the gray-skinned woman, and over to the door that leads into the room where Kate and Luke used to sleep.

  I pause, before pushing the door open.

  Sure enough, Luke is on the bed, but there's a large bloodstain beneath his body, with more blood dripping down onto the floor. Next to him, Wilbur's body has also been sliced open, and I have a vague memory of the dog barking at me as I...

  As I...

  I hold the knife up.

  "Don't move!" a voice shouts.

  Turning, I see that three police officers have reached the top of the stairs. One of them hits the light switch and finally I realize that there's blood everywhere. I turn to the gray-skinned woman, but she's nowhere to be seen. Seconds later, one of the police officers grabs my arm and twists me around, pushing me against the wall as he releases the knife from my grasp. I don't fight him, because I know there's no point: they won't believe a word that I tell them, and I guess that in some ways they might be right. Closing my eyes, I'm finally able to remember the moment earlier this evening when I lured Mum into a bedroom and stabbed her. A few minutes later, I did the same to Dad, and then I waited a little while before finishing off Luke and the dog. I think there might have been more people, too.

  The police officer reads me my rights, but when he asks if I understand, I don't answer. I just press my face against the wall and keep my eyes closed. I wish I'd had a little more time, enough to finish my plan and set the house on fire, but I don't suppose it matters too much.

  I still won.

  Chapter Eight

  Ellen

  "Do you remember killing him?" the detective asks, sitting opposite me in the small interview room.

  I pause for a moment as I try to make sense of the memories that are drifting through my mind.

  "Thomas Balfour," he continues, holding up a photo of Tom. "He was found dead in his room, and we have evidence to suggest that you'd been with him just before he died. Tests confirm certain bodily fluids, and there are also several fingerprints that I'm confident will match yours. We're also in the process of accessing your phone records, as well as the tapes of nearby CCTV cameras. I'm going to ask you again, Ellen. Do you -"

  "Yes," I say suddenly.

  "You remember killing Thomas Balfour?"

  I nod, as an image flashes into my mind: Tom on the bed, sleeping, and then a blade sliding into his chest.

  "Okay," the detective replies, putting the photo down before glancing at my solicitor. "I don't know if you have any objections," he continues, "but that makes four counts of murder that your client has now confessed to."

  "And the dog," I point out.

  "I'm sorry?" the detective asks.

  "His name was Wilbur," I continue. "He was Kate and Luke's dog. Well, he was more Luke's in the end, but... whoever he belonged to, I killed him."

  "Right," the detective mutters, making a note. "I'm not sure that quite counts as a murder, but I'll have to speak to my colleagues about whether or not animal cruelty charges might apply."

  "I want it placed on record that Ellen volunteered that information," the solicitor says calmly, with a hushed tone. "There was no attempt to obfuscate or deceive. In fact, I want it placed on record that she has been extremely co-operative throughout this process. She was perfectly within her rights to remain silent."

  "Of course," the detective replies, before staring at me for a moment. "Ellen," he adds eventually, "I'm going to speak to someone about arranged a transfer for you to a psychiatric hospital where your emotional state will be properly assessed. The reason I'm going to do this is that I believe you require specialist treatment, and because I believe you might be a danger to yourself. That being so, I have a duty of care, and I'm afraid I feel that I have no option but to ensure that you receive psychiatric treatment. I've spoken to your solicitor, and he's indicated to me that he agrees with my decision, so I'm hoping that I won't have to fight you on this, Ellen. Do you understand?"

  I stare at him.

  "Ellen, do you -"

  "Yes," I say calmly, even though I feel as if part of my mind is starting to panic. "You think I'm crazy," I continue, "and you want to send me somewhere so I can be checked out. You think there's something terribly wrong with me, and that I'm not only a danger to other people, but also to myself."

  "Do you understand why I might think that?" he asks.

  I pause. "Yes," I say eventually. "All the people who are dead. You have to work out why it happened, and it's easier if you just assume that I'm crazy. The problem is, you don't understand about Alice."

  "Alice?" he asks, glancing at my solicitor for a moment before turning back to me. "Who's Alice?"

  "Alice Maynard was my great-great-grandmother," I tell him. "She died in the house, and she's still there. She's been watching us all our lives, twisting our minds and trying to get us to hurt ourselves. At first she focused on me; I guess she thought I was the weakest, but I failed when I tried to kill myself. She must have given up on me at that point and decided that she had to try another approach. So she turned to Kate, and she managed to drive her out of her mind. That's why she killed herself. I think Kate was her favorite -"

  "Okay," the detective says, interrupting me. "I think this is something you need to communicate to the psychiatrist who assesses you."

  "Kate always seemed so strong," I continue. "I thought she'd be there forever, but she was just good at hiding her true feelings."

  "I'm sure," the detective replies. "Again, we're going to get you the help you need, and there'll be people who can talk to you about all of this."

  "But it's all true," I continue. "Alice is the one who kept pushing us. Kate and I were able to stay sane while we were together, but as we grew up we started to live more separate lives. That's how Alice was able to..." I pause for a moment, and suddenly I realize the truth. "Or maybe Alice was just trying to warn us," I add, lost in thought for a few seconds. "The house made her kill herself and her children, and she wanted to watch over us, to make sure that the same thing wouldn't happen again. I got it all wrong. She was as much a victim as the rest of us. I even saw her children once -"

  "Calm down," my solicitor says, placing a hand on my arm.

  "No," I continue, starting to feel restless. "I was completely wrong, don't you see?"

  Before the detective can say anything, his phone starts ringing. He excuses himself and steps out of the room for a moment, as I stare straight ahead and try to put all my thoughts straight. Right now, I feel as if I have a million ideas and sensations in my head, but no way to pull them together and force them to make sense. The pieces are there, though, and I'm certain I can get everything straightened out. I just need time.

  "It was the house," I say after a few seconds. "There's something evil about that place. It reaches into people's minds and twists them around. That's why Alice suddenly drowned her children and killed herself all those years ago and -"

  "Please," the solicitor says calmly, "try not to get too agitated."

  As the detective returns to the room, I look over at him and realize that there's a concerned look in his eyes.

  "Ellen," he says after a moment, "it's my duty to inform you that a fifth body has been found at the house. Some officers were searching the basement, and they located a body in an old tin bathtub. Whoever it was, they haven't been dead for long, but there's evidence of a series of stab wounds in the torso and neck area, as well as blood splatter on the wall that indicates the individual was killed in that location. Formal identification hasn't been made yet, but based on all the available indicators we believe that it's your brother, John."

  "No," I reply, feeling a crushing sensation in my chest. "I didn't hurt him! He left!"

  "I think we need to wrap this up," the detective replies, turning to the solicitor. "She's not a reliable witness -"

  "No!" I shout, getting to my feet. Several police officers hurry into the room and grab my arms, but I'm determined not to let them take me aw
ay. "I'm not crazy!" I continue as they drag me to the door. "I know what I saw, and I know I didn't hurt my brother! Alice killed herself in that bath! She did it! Or the house did it! I need to go back there and talk to her! You have to let me speak to her! She knows!"

  "Knows what?" the detective asks.

  "Everything!" I shout. "Alice has seen it all! If you just go to the house and find her, she'll tell you!"

  "You'll be transferred this evening," the detective says calmly.

  "No!" I scream as I'm pulled out into the corridor. "You have to go there and talk to her, and then you have to destroy that house! You have to burn it to the ground and make sure no-one ever builds there again!"

  I keep screaming as they drag me along the corridor, but I know they've already made up their minds. Still, I have to make them believe me. I didn't kill John, which means that something's still waiting there in the house, waiting for more victims to move in. They have to believe me, but as I'm locked in a cell, I realize that they're going to just write me off as some kind of idiot. I should have collected more evidence and been ready for this, but things have been moving too quickly. I know I sound insane, but I need to find a way to make them understand.

  "Please!" I shout as they walk away from the cell door. "You have to believe me! Go back there and look for yourselves! She's there! You have to stop the house!"

  Epilogue

  "Did you hear something?" Rich asks, glancing over his shoulder.

  It's late on the first day, and although he and John have been working solidly since 8am, they're still only partway through the job. Having been left abandoned for so long, the house is in a terrible state, and it's clear that rats have been having the run of the place.